


Casks of Light

by zalzaires



Category: Breath of Fire: Dragon Quarter
Genre: Gen, this story is basically about misogynistic violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:28:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25741339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zalzaires/pseuds/zalzaires
Summary: The woman spoke to Ryu in a dull, pained voice. “This world you’re trying to protect? I don’t think it’s worth it.”
Kudos: 9





	Casks of Light

**Author's Note:**

> warnings for: no graphic events or imagery are depicted, but the tone of the piece is meant to be evocative of gendered violence committed by a trusted man upon a younger woman when they’re alone.

The lights in the corridor flickered with the force of their footsteps. These were lamps that had been in use since far, far before living memory. Made of a strange filament that never faltered, the problem with the bottle-like lamps wasn’t the lamps, themselves – but the wires, stripped weak and bare by endless swaying and friction. The ability to shine was there.. but in a way, the lights had become just too tired.

Rattling on loose-swinging wires, they grew closer every day to those last strands breaking under the weight. In a year this path would be pitch black, save for the glimmers on the bodies of wandering Genics.

“Cheer up, Miss Kitty. What’s got you so glum? This job will be over and done with before you even know it.”

...If left to its own devices it would be, anyway. That’s what they were here for – to service the lights, and to put in a little extra something to help Trinity keep a step ahead. If it were up to her, she’d do it alone… but last month, at another location, she’d been caught in the act and had to spend a day crawling through antz-infested vents to get away from the Rangers.

That’s why Mote was with her today. Mote was a middle-aged mole-clan man with work-worn claws and a chipper attitude, and he’d come to EndSector after an accident saw his tunneling career come to a swift end. A friend-of-a-friend had felt him out as a potential for the group, brought him to a Trinity meeting – and he was a fixture among them all ever since.

Apparently he’d requested himself to come help her today. Mote was well known within Trinity as a reliable pair of claws who liked to involve himself in their community upkeep work specifically.. it was no big surprise, she supposed.

The smaller fellow was leading the way merrily to the operation site, a big bag of both their supplies slung over his shoulder. He had a light limp, and occasionally a rough seam on the bottom of the bag would bulge dangerously as he plodded along… it really wasn’t doing her blood pressure any favors. As for his personality…

“I did say I hate that nickname, didn’t I? You really don’t have any better material than that...?”

...they at least got along better than she’d expected, but the partnering still chafed. There were surely a hundred other things this guy could be off doing, and here he was carrying her toolkit and spotting for her, all because she’d forgot to deadbolt a lock at the wrong moment. It was embarrassing, it turned a task she should have been able to slip off and do at her leisure into a time-sensitive priority, it wasted _both_ their time, it meant her movement had to stay restricted by whatever Mote could handle, too – it sucked.

“Wish we could whistle or something, you know… it gets boring out in the boonies like this without a little music to carry you through,” Mote lamented. “Seems like a real silly morta, mori, morfy...mora--”

“Moratorium?”she asked tentatively. He’d used that word the day before.

“Mortatorium! Exactly! A real silly Morty-tory-um. I’m sure it’s been explained to me, but I still don’t get it. Why can’t we whistle out here? Over in EdgeSector, why, no one gives a wit. In fact, out in those tunnels, the visibility’s so bad you can’t count on your lights to help keep track of your friends at all – you have to go on the sound.”

“Hahah.. I wish we could, Mote. If you really want, you could learn by doing. The only price is the chance of losing your life.”

Mote stopped in his tracks, and peered over his shoulder at her, long nose twitching. “My LIFE? Goodness, kitty cat, you don’t have to be so scary! What even is it that’s so dangerous?”

Lin’s mouth slowly curled into a dreadful smile.

“...Me.”

She breezed past a startled-looking Mote, then stopped a few long strides ahead of him and turned toward him with a hand on her hip. “You see THESE, right?” she said, one hand squishing at her ear, a big squishy triangle snug beneath her cowl. “They’re _sensitive_! It hurts when you hit those high notes!”

Mote made a face and sniffed, offended. “Not all of us can be Mezzo-sopramoles. The jealous masses will truly never understand,” he scoffed, and he picked up walking again.

…once some time had passed between them in silence, Lin spoke again:

“...The truth is, Mote... You know Lanternbats, right? They’re a major problem here. There’s even a colony up near LowSector that will eat you up whole in minutes. Down here they can’t keep up the same numbers, but it’s even worse because the Rangers barely patrol, and when they do... it’s just to go after us, of course. If you whistle too high they can hear it from far away, and you never know how many are waiting in the wings. They like to wait for prey to pass by, gathering up their strength, then.... _fwoom._ ” She snapped her fingers, mimicking the motion of a lighter.

“Oh.” Mote mulled quietly over that.

Time and steps passed, and they finally got to the site they’d been assigned. Mote started pulling out equipment, humming a few deep notes, open-mouthed, as he worked. Lin snagged a screwdriver from him, and started scoping out a way to get up at the ceiling.

“Maybe we should go on out luring them some time, whiskers. I’ve seen you shoot.”

“You’re on about that again?” Lin called down from high atop a precarious pile of scrap. “I don’t know about you, but I--”

She screamed involuntarily as metal groaned and shifted, and the pile beneath her feet fell away into pieces. At the last moment she kicked off the palette she was standing on, and only by the skin of her teeth managed to cling for dear life to an orange pipe. Clinging closely to it like a child to its mother, she felt the rough surface scuffing at her skin… not that she could bring herself to give a damn about that right now. She had bigger problems.

The scent of rust filled her nose as flakes ground off onto her clothes… when the din of metal and bits of rotten furniture tumbling over each other had died down, she called out. “Mote! Are you okay?”

She was answered by a cough. “Ahugh! Ugh. I think I got dinged a bit, but nothing serious, whiskers. But the camera we came to put in…”

Oh, no. Those things were _not_ replaceable.

“Is it salvageable?” she asked, a wobble in her voice as she adjusted her failing grip.

“I think there’s more important things than a silly camera at stake right now! You keep right there, I’m going to try to find something you can land on safely. Hold on, Lin!”

Mote cast around in a messy rush, squinting intently at the junk littering the room at a pace that just felt painful. Lin grit her teeth. “Th-the beds… Mote, didn’t we pass old dorms coming in…?”

He jumped in place. “Ah! You’re right! I’ll go get some of those old mattresses!”

The seconds he was gone felt like eons. Lin thanked her own devil’s luck that the same limbs that let her clamber up here to get into trouble were still holding out this long.

The seconds became minutes, and that was when she began to well and truly dread. Scenarios raced through her mind as to what could have happened to Mote, all of them dire. As the ache in her arms grew sharper and she felt parts of them start to quiver, Lin began looking much more keenly at the options she had for climbing down by herself.

None of them were great. Land wrong, she could be impaled, or snap a limb – and who knew when another person would happen upon her then. Or if they’d even suffer her to live. That big bag of supplies of Mote’s left on the floor was brimming full of contraband. If Rangers came in here…

If Rangers came in here, she’d be a sitting duck either way. Lin squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in as slow and deep as she could. Then she opened her eyes, fixed her gaze on her chosen spot, leapt –

*

_CRASH_

Something fell and rolled, rattling like cursed bones.. but Lin had landed on a safe spot she could descend from, kept her feet, and scraped up only her hands from clinging to the rough pipe for so long. She could barely believe it. She laughed, breathy and tense, then carefully made her way back to solid ground.

“Guess they’re right about cats always landing on their feet.”

_Who was that? **!**_

There, in the doorway. She wasn’t at the right angle to see before, but now she could: Mote... was just standing there. His hands were empty – and she noticed after a moment of wide-eyed staring he’d put on a set of gloves, thick ones with sharp metal nail-caps over his dulled claws. Claws meant for defending himself against Genics.

“You really are too much, you know that?” his sweet voice called out to her. “So clumsy. No wonder they set you with a babysitter. What are we going to do with you, Miss Kitty…? Can’t even fix these old lights without facing your maker.”

The back of her neck prickled, and she straightened up slowly to her full height. “Whatever you’re about to try, buddy,” she hissed, low and disdainful, “you better think twice. Only the bats will ever hear you out here.”

He stared at her a while, hard and thoughtful. She settled her hand on her weapon and stared back. It went on until surely both their eyes were watering, raw and sandy from the dirty air.

Mote finally broke his gaze away, turned around and walked away, silent, into the darkness. She listened to his shuffling feet recede, body held in utmost stillness.. then she slammed shut the door he’d been looming in, barred it quick with a piece of light furniture – then for real sealed it off, with a tool she’d special made herself for overriding corridor doors to turn on the deadbolt.

She finally made a sound. A single, long, strangled wheeze, that turned into a strained cry. She went for the other exit, closing it off, too – and leered around at her little section of sealed corridor with anxious anger, daring it to offer another way in for her to block off. There was nothing. Lin slumped on the floor.

She heard a sound.

Lin held her breath in her mouth, breathing shallow and slow through her nose. The sound was high, and she couldn’t quite define what it was… at first. The longer she listened, the more she was sure.

He was whistling. She let go of her held breath, gasping sharply for air, _furious_ – of course he was whistling, happy as a little clam in a stream.

Once she caught her breath… she realized she could hear something else. Something high. Like squealing. Something dull. Like beating wings.

She waited longer, staring at the closed door.

The high sounds and the dull sounds all got farther and farther away.

But then.. she could smell it.

Burnt fur.

…

Lin gathered up the equipment, including the hopelessly broken camera, and stowed it all into Mote’s bag. She picked it up over her shoulder, opened the door opposite the direction Mote had went, and left. The dying lights could wait for another day, another person. She was done.


End file.
